Quel Fara
by ryoushi-x
Summary: PreOC Bishop fic.  He's on a mission to find the shapeshifter, preferably alive but dead if necessary.
1. Chapter 1

This fan fiction about Bishop takes place while he is still working for the Luskans, before the tragic events of Red Fallow's Watch and Neverwinter Nights 2 OC.

Please note that the material you are about to read is definitely rated as **Mature/Restricted** for scenes of violence, sexuality, BDSM and nudity. You should be 18 years old or older before continuing on as adult themes are explored. Please do NOT continue if any of these makes you uncomfortable. There are graphic and descriptive scenes in this narrative. 

Quel Fara – Part I

By Ryoushi © 2007

The missive had been blunt, cryptic and to the point. He had destroyed it immediately after reading and memorizing the contents. He knew the way Luskans worked. If he was caught with it, while trespassing deep in Neverwinter territory, they'd deny even having given it to him. He would be damned if he would be hung out to dry by those scums.

_Capture the shapechanger girl in Neverwinter wilderness. _

_Preferably alive; dead if necessary._

It was a useless note. How do you track a shape-shifting girl through the woods? For all he knew he might accidentally shoot her while hunting for deer. He had told the messenger this, to which the short surly half-elf had replied, "No matter what form she takes, she will have purple eyes. She also cannot take the form of any air or sea creature. That should be enough for the best tracker in Luskan, if you really _are_ as good as your reputation."

"What so important about her, anyway?" he had grunted. The half-elf had turned his nose down, "The business of the Arcane Brotherhood is of no concern to you, ranger. Do as you are told and you will be rewarded greatly. Ask too many questions, and they will assure that nobody on either side of the border has even _heard_ of you or your reputation." Bishop had scowled at the half-elf and considered killing him and hiding the body; he could always just ignore the mission and pretend he never even got the message. The messenger had seemed to sense his intentions, "The Hosttower mages will not tolerate _any_ delay in this assignment." He had turned abruptly, saying over his shoulder, "And she's quite beautiful, from what I hear. Don't let her get inside your head or else you'll regret it." He scurried off, his robes swishing out the door.

Bishop had slammed his glass of ale down on the table, glaring at the other patrons in the tavern who looked up at him, until they had averted their eyes. _Damn those Luskan-bred bastards!_ One day he'd be free from them all and he'd make sure he would serve no one again. Until then though, he'd have to bide his time and play their games.

* * *

The rain was coming down hard, making the mud slippery beneath his boots. The water dripped from his hood into his eyes, making it hard to see but at least the mud forced her to leave deeper imprints in the soil. Finding her trail had been difficult at first. How do you describe somebody only by the color of their eyes, when they can take on whatever other appearance they wanted? He had found that the orcs and bugbears of the region were his most reliable sources – it appeared she was fond of harassing their raiding and hunting parties. Before he had slit the throat of the last orc he had encountered, the miserable creature has choked out what they had called her: _Draugur vajolk._ Purple ghost.

He had been on her trail now for nearly a week; every day brought him no closer to his prey. But no further either. At first it had been difficult, but not impossible, to follow her through the dense underbrush. She always had been cautious how she made her camp, how she stepped in the dirt – but now she was getting careless. And Bishop knew survivors like her did not get careless by accident. She was toying with him now, making it a game, wanting to be caught – trying to see if he _could_ catch her. He didn't know if he was impressed or annoyed with her. Probably both. His supply of whisky was running low but at least out here he didn't have to worry about Luskans. The longer he was in the woods, the less time he was in the Luskan city. And that was just fine by him.

He glanced at the mud. Dainty humanoid footsteps, moving at a brisk jog, judging from the depth of the toe compared to the heel. She was comfortable in the woods – he could tell by the way her strides never changed between running on dirt, rocks, grass, over fallen branches.

Bishop felt the hairs of his neck stand up on end but he didn't bother turning around. He knew she was probably watching him now. She often circled back so that she was following him following her. It unnerved him slightly that she might actually have the upper hand on him. Once in frustration, he had fired off an arrow randomly into the trees; the note did say _dead if necessary_. But he knew that move was pointless and he wasted no more arrows firing at a prey he could not see. Besides, if she could sneak up behind him, he didn't need an arrow in _his_ back. Still, he hadn't even seen her or any of her shifted manifestations. At night he occasionally awoke, and in his half-dreaming state, often saw shining purple eyes at the edges of his vision. But every time he turned his head, they faded from view.

He called Karnwyr back to him; he had stopped sending the wolf out to try to herd her back to him. Every time he had done that, her trail had gone cold for hours, leaving him circling the forest in frustration until it seemed like she had forgiven him and had left him an obvious marker. She seemed to want to do this game person to person. She had once hung a small leather pendant with a cougar's tooth on a tree branch. He was wearing it now and found himself idly toying with it. _Did she make this token? Had she made it for him? _More sobering was the thought that if she had made it, it meant she could kill a cougar by herself. But Bishop was prepared to kill her if she put up a fight, gift or no gift. It would take more than a necklace to bribe him off.

Karnwyr trotted back to him, shaking his fur and sending water droplets flying. It was growing dark and he knew he could rest without her disappearing. He would set up camp here and wake before the sunrise – Bishop knew the only way to catch her was to make up grounds while she was sleeping, maybe even catch her while she was asleep. He looked up and looked around, making a big show of dropping his pack into the mud. He would catch her soon; she would make a fatal mistake sooner or later – they all did.


	2. Chapter 2

This fan fiction about Bishop takes place while he is still working for the Luskans, before the tragic events of Redfallow's Watch and Neverwinter Nights 2 OC.

Please note that the material you are about to read is definitely rated as **Mature/Restricted** for scenes of violence, sexuality, BDSM and nudity. You should be 18 years old or older before continuing on as adult themes are explored. Please do NOT continue if any of these makes you uncomfortable. There are graphic and descriptive scenes in this narrative. 

Quel Fara – Part II

By Ryoushi © 2007

When he awoke, he noticed right away the cloak draped over him like a blanket. And he knew it was _her_ cloak too; he could smell her female scent on it, like a mixture of fire, spices, herbs, and flowers. He could also sense a faint protective magic woven into the fabric. Karnwyr was sleeping next to him, half tucked under the cloak. Bishop growled and nudged the wolf sharply, "Whelp – couldn't even wake me when she was standing here! What good are you?" The large canine raised an eyebrow at him intelligently as if to say _you didn't wake up either! _

There wasn't any dew on the cloak – she had just been there. But he knew she was no longer in the immediate vicinity. She wasn't a fool; if she knew what was good for her, she'd be running at top speed now. The chase was back on. The purple ghost had just flitted from his grasp.

Bishop hurriedly packed up his camp, taking the cloak and stuffing it in his pack. He didn't know why he bothered to take it; he couldn't image she would just give herself up after running for so long and he wasn't going to give her back a protective cloak if he needed to fight her. And if she was a corpse by the end of it… well, all the more reason to leave the bulky cloak behind. Still…something urged him to take the cloak and he relented. He knew better than to ignore his instincts and if he was wrong in this case, he could sell it back in the city for some gold. It wasn't _that_ bulky anyway.

* * *

She was headed towards the mountains, taking a twisted but steady path. He had been chasing after her for the better part of two hours when suddenly Karnwyr let out a yip in the distance. Bishop hurried his stride. _Surely she couldn't be ahead? _ He ducked into the shadows of the trees, pulling out his longbow. When he broke through the underbrush he saw lying in the middle of the glade a small suit of leather armor. Karnwyr was circling it and sniffing excitedly.

"Well well well…what do we have here?" He lifted the armor and examined it. It light and well built, with not a single scratch upon it. Either it was new or she had never seen battle. Or at least had never been hit in battle. The leather was faintly warm; she was close. Karnwyr was dancing around, nipping at invisible insects in the grass: he knew they were close as well.

Bishop paused, considering his quarry. What was she doing? Lightening her load so she could run faster, unencumbered? Hoping to slow him down? Was she setting a trap for him? He knew he couldn't remain stealthy and track her at a running speed, but there was no time to think further. The more he stopped, the further she got. He stuffed the armor into his pack. She may have had a head start this morning but he could run for longer.

* * *

The first boot was on one side of the riverbank, the second on the other. Bishop picked up each of the fine leather footwear and put them in his pack, along with the cloak, the armor, a pair of bracers, a belt and some gloves he had thus far collected. He also took the opportunity to refill his water skin. Tracking over vast distances had taught him to always take water when it was available. By now, he was more concerned with what she was planning. _Could she only shapechange or cast spells when unamored or naked?_ He thought of her, a beautiful woman from what the half-elf had said, running naked through the woods. If he caught her, maybe he could pretend to offer her mercy and freedom in exchange for…well, _her_. He'd still have to turn her over to the Hosttower mages in the end but she didn't need to know that. It was likely she wouldn't be alive long enough to feel really betrayed by him anyway, knowing them.

Bishop frowned and splashed some of the cool water onto his face. Why was she leaving him a trail like this? Pretty soon she would be totally defenseless against any weapon but he doubted a girl like her would ever be truly defenseless. He knew she couldn't be leading him into a trap; she had had plenty of opportunities to kill him already yet had refrained from doing so. "Women," Bishop snorted derisively. "Even out here they don't make sense." Karnwyr looked up at the sound of his voice, eager to keep moving. He knew she would be running more slowly now that she was barefoot but it would be harder to track her. Not that he really needed it – not when she was letting herself be followed.

* * *

The sun was setting in the western skies, the skies melting in reds and oranges. By now they were in the shadows of the mountains. Karnwyr was panting as he trotted besides Bishop. The past three hours they had collected two small jeweled rings, and a silver necklace. A few times he had thought he had glimpsed her ahead, a fleeting shadow darting between trees but when he ran to catch up, the figure promptly disappeared from view. For all he knew, she could have shapeshifted into a mouse and he had run right past her. He was seriously entertaining the thought of sticking an arrow through that half-elven messenger more and more.

Suddenly ahead he spotted the edge of a sleeved shirt, sticking out from behind a tree. She was hiding behind a_ tree_? That was an amateur move – a little _too_ amateur – and it stank of an ambush. He pulled out his long sword and crept forward, his ears and eyes alert. But the evening was still and she didn't move from her position. He decided then that he wasn't going to creep up slowly to her and give her a chance to fire off a spell – he charged forward, sword in hand, ready to make a killing stroke if she made any aggressive move.

But he stopped short when he reached tree. Instead of a girl, it was just her shirt, stuffed full of leaves and nailed to the trunk. _Oldest trick in the book._ Bishop cursed himself for falling for it. He had been not patient enough and too anxious that maybe his hunt was finally over. _Those kinds of mistakes could get you killed,_ he thought angrily to himself, _and if they do, then you deserve it_. He glanced down and noticed a thin dagger lying on the ground beneath the shirt. So she had left him her weapon as well. No armor, no weapon, no clothes. He looked over for his wolf and noticed the animal staring fixedly in the distance, tail wagging slightly. Bishop followed Karnwyr's gaze and noticed the thin plume of smoke snaking upwards from a small hidden glen.

A live campfire.

She had to be here.

And she had to be expecting him.

Bishop glanced back at her shirt nailed to the tree and grudgingly took it down. He had brought her all her other gear and equipment all this way; he might as well bring her her shirt. He picked up her dagger as well and was surprised at how light it was. Probably enchanted.

He walked cautiously towards the fire, every sense alert and ready. He crept up to the edge of the small clearing and surveyed the scene from the darkness. There was a small fire with a rabbit cooking on a spit. A small bottle of wine, half drunk, was propped against a rock. Her bedroll was empty. His eyes finally fell upon her pair of worn brown leather pants, carefully laid out besides the bedroll, by the fire. But no girl.

Karnwyr nuzzled his hand, whining. Bishop had to admit the smell of the cooking game was tempting but he could never take food from the enemy. Especially an enemy he couldn't see and who was expecting him. He shoved Karnwyr off, "Go find your own damn rabbit. You're a wolf, not some lapdog." The wolf gave the skewered rabbit one last long look before disappearing into the darkness.

Bishop sat against a tree at the edge of glade, his sword ready. He would wait all night for her to return if he had to.


	3. Chapter 3

This fan fiction about Bishop takes place while he is still working for the Luskans, before the tragic events of Redfallow's Watch and Neverwinter Nights 2 OC.

Please note that the material you are about to read is definitely rated as **Mature/Restricted** for scenes of violence, sexuality, BDSM and nudity. You should be 18 years old or older before continuing on as adult themes are explored. Please do NOT continue if any of these makes you uncomfortable. There are graphic and descriptive scenes in this narrative. 

Quel Fara – Part III

By Ryoushi © 2007

When he awoke, it was his first realization that he had even fallen asleep. He cursed himself again. He was getting sloppy. He could see the stars and the glade was dark. The fire must have gone out.

Bishop went to go sit up when he realized that he could not move. Both his arms were tied securely above his head to the nearest tree; his legs were each stretched out and bound by a significant length of rope to other trees. He glanced around for Karnwyr but the wolf was nowhere to be found.

Suddenly, a soft silken voice came out of the darkness, just out of sight by his head, "Ahhh…so he finally awakes…" Bishop felt the cool tip of a sword, _his sword_, gently but firmly tip his chin back so he was staring at the figure standing behind his head. Her face was hidden by her hair and shadows but he could catch the gleam in her eyes – purple. She was wearing a gauzy white gown that shimmered iridescent in the moonlight. "Your wolf is fine. He finds these woods fascinating and will return to you in the morning." Her speech had a strange regal air, a comfortable lethality mixed with a sly mischievousness. Bishop could tell she had a good command of a sword by the way she could direct his movements, applying firm control of the blade without cutting his skin. It was clear she had killed before and would kill again.

Bishop subtly tested the ropes holding him captive. They were made of some kind of smooth material, most likely elven, and they were tight without cutting into his circulation. He noticed that all his armor was off and out of sight and he was dressed only in his green tunic and brown trews. He glanced back up at the girl, grudgingly respectful. "Well," he murmured, "I'm impressed. Didn't think anyone could outwit me in the woods."

Her face broke into a cool smile, "Thank you. Though I will confess now there was some magic involved." She crouched, continuing to hold the blade under his chin. "I'm impressed with you as well. Not only did you track me this far, you brought all my gear. How…kind of you…to play this game with me. But now, the predator has become the prey, has he not?" She guided his head to the right with the sword and he saw that she had emptied his pack of all her equipment. But she hadn't put any of it on. Except her dagger.

She bent over him, examining his face and he took the opportunity to openly examine her as well. Her white gown hid very little of her body; he could see the fullness of her breasts, the slightness of her waist and the curve of her hips. Her long dark hair tumbled around her delicate face, with its arched eyebrows and full lips. Her appearance did not surprise him. She was as beautiful as the messenger had warned him about; but it was the feral way in which she licked her lips and eyed him that was unexpected. It had been a while since he had been with a real woman; he didn't count the Luskan wenches he met in brothels as being anything worthwhile – they were as likely to kill you as kiss you. Bishop felt the tension between his legs build. He shifted his weight and pretended to be trying to get into a more comfortable position. He would be damned if he would let her see him like this. He was the one who was supposed to be in control, not her.

She used the blade to lift his chin once again. "What is your name, handsome ranger?" Bishop smirked. Maybe he could still have things go his way if he could say all the right things. He knew women did not necessarily want the real truth so much as their truths. "Bishop. And yours?"

The Shapechanger pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I have no true name. I am who I am and I am many things." She looked at him playfully. "I can be many things for you." Bishop watched as suddenly the lines surrounding her blurred and she reappeared as a buxom blonde human, her heavy pendulous breasts straining against the fabric of the gown. "Or would you prefer…" and a small elvish girl with red hair smiled tauntingly at him. "Or does your preference lie with the more...savage, like you?" He watched as her skin turned green and suddenly a huge half-orc female was narrowing her eyes in a strangely seductive manner. She morphed back into her original form, her purple eyes laughing.

Bishop swallowed. "Now…that's…a rather intimate question." She smiled coyly at him, "I think we're in a rather…intimate situation?" Her hand traveled from her side and suddenly grasped him firmly between his spread legs. Bishop's body spasmed against the bonds holding him captive and he let out a guttural moan of wanting in spite of himself.

The Shapechanger leaned in closer, her breath hot against his cheek, her eyes were drawing him in like dark pools of night, "You're here to capture me for the Luskans or to kill me for them, that much I know." Bishop could feel her breasts rubbing against his chest – he could feel her nipples through the gauzy fabric - and her hand tightened their grip on his hardening shaft. He knew he should be paying more attention to what she was saying but her touch was maddening. And her eyes…looking into her eyes was making him lightheaded. "Do not think you are the first tracker they have sent after me. You have certainly been the best and for that I will let you live. The Hosttower mages do not understand what or who I am but I will send you back and you will tell them for me. Really, it is a shame I have to send you back at all – I know there is no love lost between you and the Luskans. We could have had so much fun together, Bishop, my handsome ranger."

She relaxed her hold on him and leaned back, watching his golden eyes carefully. Bishop jerked angrily against the cords, and spat "I'm not your messenger. You think a few honeyed words will get me to soften up, show you my tender side and get me to run your errands? Well think again."

She laughed, "No, you are not my messenger but you are my prisoner. And you will give them my message whether you want to or not because you really don't have any other choice. I will not go with you as your captive and you will not be able to kill me, tied up as you are. You have to go back to your Luskan contact unless you want to spend the rest of your life running from the Hosttower – and trust me, that will result in a very short life indeed. No, you aren't my messenger but you are _mine_, Bishop, in more ways than one." Her grip tightened again and he silently cursed his traitorous body as he squirmed against her touch. He knew she was right. Her laugh came to him again, mocking, "And I don't want you to soften up, if you couldn't already tell."

She let go of him and pulled out her dagger with her right hand, holding it high above his chest. "Don't worry, Bishop, I always greatly reward those who work for me – and unlike the Luskans, I don't mind paying up front." She smiled viciously at him, "Don't move or I might accidentally cut you." With one deft move, she cut downwards, the tip of her dagger snagging his tunic and slicing it open down the middle. Bishop exhaled loudly before he realized he had been holding his breath. He could feel the cool night air on his skin but he only shivered when he felt her fingernails trail up his abdomen to his chest. She touched the cougar's tooth pendant briefly. He growled, only half-jokingly, "Woman, you better get me a new shirt unless you want me marching back to the Hosttower mages like this."

The Shapechanger was tracing the scars on his skin as she purred, "I'm sure the women of the city won't mind too much, if they're real, hot-blooded females." Her fingers darted out and twisted his nipples, hard, wrenching the flesh to her and Bishop exhaled through clenched teeth, his body wracked with pain even as the heat continued to build within him. She straddled him, hiking her dress up around her hips. She brushed her lips from his navel up the midline of his stomach to his chest. Her touch was so tantalizingly light; he pulled against his restraints, pressing his torso against her mouth. He could feel her lips twitch in a smile as she complied, running her tongue slowly across his chest. Her sharp white teeth were grazing his skin and suddenly they sunk lightly into his pectoral muscles. Bishop gasped in pain and threw his head back, his whole body tensing against the elven cords; when he looked back down she was looking back up at him, her eyes gleaming with a feral light, small rivulets of blood droplets starting to form where she had bit him. She ran her tongue along her teeth slowly, her eyes now half-closed.

The shock of the pain was still fresh in his mind; he wanted to turn on her flesh, to have his lips tear at her succulent skin until she bruised, to have her twist in agony and pleasure beneath him. "Untie me," he whispered hoarsely. "Untie me." His voice was low, threatening in its thick desire. He didn't know what he would do once untied - probably ravish her body until the world came crashing down around them. There was nothing else to do with a woman like this once you had her.

Her eyes narrowed at the tone of his voice. She tilted her head to the side and considered him through lowered lashes. "No," she said finally. "A man like you does not give up control very much, does he?" She slid her body up his, pressing herself against him, until those teeth were brushing his earlobe, "Let go, Bishop. Let go. Let go first and then I'll let you go."


	4. Chapter 4

This fan fiction about Bishop takes place while he is still working for the Luskans, before the tragic events of Redfallow's Watch and Neverwinter Nights 2 OC.

Please note that the material you are about to read is definitely rated as **Mature/Restricted** for scenes of violence, sexuality, BDSM and nudity. You should be 18 years old or older before continuing on as adult themes are explored. Please do NOT continue if any of these makes you uncomfortable. There are graphic and descriptive scenes in this narrative. 

Quel Fara – Part IV

By Ryoushi © 2007

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, holding him to her gaze. His liquid amber eyes flickered momentarily. _In fear? Confusion?_ "Oh Bishop," she sighed. "You make life terribly difficult for yourself." She sat back up and looked at him with a vague, distracted kindness, "No matter…if you can not give yourself absolutely to someone else, then I'll just take you from yourself..." Her fingers trailed to the small wound in his chest, the blood already dried. She touched skin, opening the wound so that the dark red liquid sprung to the surface again. She lifted herself so that she was now on all fours, her hair falling like a curtain around her face. Bishop watched her svelte movements as she leaned down and kissed him. For all her fierce words, her mouth was soft – almost shy. Her sudden tenderness surprised Bishop and he could do nothing but respond in kind. He realized with a jolt that she was still just a girl, barely younger than him. She was embracing him with a quiet lonely ache, of one who lives alone, who is alone in a world; a private ache Bishop understood all too well. _Who was this girl, seducing him, bewitching him, entangling herself with him, slipping inside his mind? _

Her small hands were now gripping the sides of his face, rubbing the coarse stubble against her fingers. Her kisses were quickening, her mouth pressing harder against his. Her eyes were closed, her brows furrowed in her concentrated passion. She ran her hands through his tousled brown hair, forcing his lips against hers. He slipped his tongue inside her mouth, desperate to have some part of him inside her – any small sliver of flesh would be better than nothing. She sucked on his tongue, pulling him deeper in. He felt the blood engorging him fully and arched his back, hoping to feel her body against his but she was keeping her body mercilessly away from him. He growled frustratingly and jerked violently again against his restraints.

She was kissing his neck now, trailing down past his chest to his navel. He felt tugging on his trews. He lifted his head and looked down and saw her working the laces loose with her teeth, her hands feverishly tugging the leather lower with every inch of freedom she gained. Bishop closed his eyes momentarily, steadying himself; the sight of her, crouched animalistically over his bulging erection with a fervid singleminded determination – it was almost too much. With a final tug, she had his pants down to his knees but could go no further because of the ropes. Bishop moaned at the sudden release from his clothes. He was thick, hard – ready for her and whatever love or abuse she was to inflict upon him. Her mouth was traveling up his thighs; he could feel her breath on his sensitive skin and then without warning, her lips were around him – warm and wet. Bishop groaned and lifted his hips, wanting to feel more, wanting her to take him deeper in her throat. He wanted to have his calloused hands on her smooth skin, he wanted to press her down into the dirt beneath him – he wanted her like he had never wanted another woman. And it seemed as though he wouldn't be able to have her. The restraints were holding him fast and she had made no move to untie him.

Her mouth was working furiously upon him, her tongue sliding along his entire length, her hands kneading where her mouth was not, and he felt himself building to his release. By the gods, that was quick, between her skilled lips. He heard his voice, drift in the night air between them, begging faintly, "Please…" _Please what? Stop? Keep going?_ "Please…" He wanted to pin her between his legs and hold her to him but the ropes did not allow him that freedom of motion. She wasn't slowing her movements and he knew she meant to take him all the way.

_Let go, Bishop. Let go._

_Let. _

_Go._

The first wave of pleasure hit him in the very core of his being and washed out over his bound limbs. The heat shot out and coursed through his blood and muscles, before exploding in his head. Her sweet succulent lips never stopped moving; they tightened on him as he writhed. He could feel himself, all of him, spilling into her. He was heaving with each breath, the air from his lungs coming in short, sporadic bursts. His bondage did not allow him to thrash with each successive roll of pleasure and he found the sensations piling up – doubling back - redoubling – until he was left spent and whimpering, his muscles shaking. _Oh gods…_The pleasure echoed through him, ebbing as she slowed her assault. He caught a gleam of pleased satisfaction in her eyes before she seductively lowered her eyes.

Bishop rested his head against the ground, eyes closed. He felt her slip away from him, the hem of her dress brushing against his legs. He heard her move to the fire-pit and within minutes, felt the warmth of a blaze. Bishop sighed, content, and stretched…

...and the ropes holding him captive suddenly fell away.

_Let go first and then I'll let you go._

His eyes snapped open and he tentatively lowered his arms and bent his knees. He turned his face to her; she was standing in the middle of the clearing, the fire casting eerie shadows across her face. Her head was tilted back slightly, her expression unreadable except for the raw desire sitting upon her parted lips and half-closed eyes as she ran her gaze along the full length of his unclothed body. He sat up and caught her eyes; he saw her muscles tense and she froze on the spot.

His lips curled in a slow smile as he kicked off his trews. He saw her eyes dart to the dark woods beyond the glade then back to him, her mouth curving up into a ready, challenging smile. Bishop crouched carefully, the light of the fire flickering off every defined, sinuous muscle. _But now, the predator has become the prey, has she not?_ Bishop could feel the adrenaline in his blood; he could feel his desire renew. He had come all this way to capture her and he would.

The night hung between them as the moment stretched out like eternity…

Her eyes met his squarely. She was still, like a rare deer in the tall grass, watching the wolf, waiting for the inevitable. She was doomed to be his the moment the ropes fell away.

_Wait._

_Wait for it._

He pounced.

She sprung in escape.

The chase was back on only this time Bishop knew he was the hunter.

His outreached fingertips brushed the edges of her skirt and as he grabbed the fabric, she darted for the woods. The flimsy dress tore and came off in his hands but slowed her breakaway. She jumped through the undergrowth, giggling wildly. Bishop crashed after her – he had to keep her in view…

Suddenly she shimmered and blinked out of sight. He heard the leaves rustle as her small shifted animal form darted through the woods. Bishop stopped, ears alert. "I played fair with you earlier…but if that's how you want to do it, I won't be so nice to you when I catch you." He felt himself twitch with arousal at the thought of punishing her body, leaving pink welts on her curved bottom. He heard her laugh again, somewhere ahead – she was back to human form. He ducked against a tree, using the darkness of night to hide himself as well as he could in his nakedness. He crept forward, sniffing occasionally. She wasn't running anymore; she was hiding somewhere. He glanced up. The moon was starting to descend but still provided enough light that he would be able to see her voluptuous feminine figure amongst the straight trees.

He squinted between two saplings. They were swaying gently in the night breeze but what was between them was not. It was unmistakable; he could see her pale hunched figure, her hair hanging loosely around her breasts. She had not seen him yet and appeared to be eyeing the camp. He could see her calf muscles flexing; she was getting ready for a mad dash…

She bolted, her expert footsteps barely making more than a hushed padding sound. Bishop sprang from his hiding spot, crashing through the trees, ignoring the whipping branches and snapping twigs – he could intercept her by the time she reached the glade.

They both reached the edge of the glade at the same time. Bishop lunged and grabbed her around the waist, hoisting her up over his shoulders. He smiled as he heard her squeal indignantly. "Put me down, ranger!" Her legs were kicking in the air, her hair tossing belligerently in a tangled mess around her face.

"As you wish." He dropped her onto her bedroll by the fire but she was agile and deftly landed on her feet. She made a quick scramble to get away but he was ready, wrapping left arm around her waist and right arm under her arm and across her chest. He held her back to his chest. His hand cupped her breast and squeezed possessively, feeling the erect nipple between his fingers. He heard her sigh imperceptibly even as she continued to struggle against his hold. He murmured lowly, half-mockingly, in her ear, "What, has no man tamed you yet?" He ran his lips up the back of her neck, and then forcefully turned her face to him. He kissed her with his savage desire and she returned this kiss frantically, with her body still straining against his grip, her hands desperately trying to free herself. Her fight was fueling his want. He felt himself grow harder and he pressed himself against her body. He chuckled and whispered roughly, repeating her words from earlier, "Let go first and then I'll let you go, Shapechanger." Only he would never truly let her go, oh no – he always trapped for keeps.

Without waiting for an answer, he slipped his left hand between her legs and smirked as he felt her buckle under him, uttering a low throaty moan. She was hot and wet, her body honest with him even though her actions were not. He tightened his hold on her before she slipped to the ground, the muscles of her legs giving out. He nudged his stiffened shaft between her legs, rubbing against her, teasing her, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of his body until he heard her beg. Her breath was coming in short staccato gulps, hot against his face and his insistent urgings seemed to have taken out all her resolve to fight him. His lips sought the soft supple flesh of her cheeks and her slight jawline; he trailed his tongue down her neck tasting her salty sweat and her sweet skin. His teeth found the gentle slope of her shoulder and he barbarically pierced her flawless skin, feeling a drop of blood fall onto his lower lip. A gift returned. He would not be the only one marked from this meeting. She arched her whole body against him, her hands reaching back and pulling him by back of his head to her. "Oh gods, Bishop, you're an animal."

_Was he, now?_ Then he would have her like one.

He squeezed her, watching the blood on her shoulder. "No more than you." She gave him a slight smile, acknowledging his true words and Bishop needed no other prodding. He lowered her to the ground slowly, his chest still adjoining her back. She sank to her knees, utterly yielding to him as he gently bent her forwards until she was on all fours. He kissed her shoulder blades, the curve of her spine and the small of her back. He used his knees to spread her legs, positioning himself between them. His hands were on her hips, guiding her back onto his erect member - he pushed his swollen tip inside her, feeling the slight resistance of the folds of her flesh and hearing her exhale slowly. He closed his eyes and held her steady, neither pushing further in nor pulling her body onto him. He could feel her trembling beneath him in anticipation; he could feel her readiness, her desire to take all of him in.

She tossed her hair back and looked at him questioningly over her right shoulder.

His voice was a growl, "I want to hear you beg."

Her eyes narrowed and he felt her pride welling up in her. With a snarl, she drove backward, attempting to impale herself fully upon him, but his hands on her waist forcefully stopped her momentum. She boldly reached back between her legs to grab at him, to push him in manually. Bishop yanked her wrists away from him. He leaned over her back, pinning her hands to the ground, his eyes piercing as he whispered in her ear, "Beg. Or I'll hold you like this all night." He thrust once inside her, hard and quick, and watched as she gave a satisfying shudder; then, cruelly, he withdrew himself, keeping the head of his shaft barely touching her.

He could see the conflict on her face, and he smiled his cool Bishop smile. Holding her with his left hand, he used his right to trace a line from the nape of her neck down the middle of her spine. He could see goosebumps form where he had touched her – he smirked – seems as though he had his own magic after all. He let his fingers meander lazily down her hips, to her thighs, avoiding the wet heat between her legs, letting her aching desperation build. He stroked her upper arms, leaning forward and planting short, abrupt kisses on her back. He let his chest rest on her back and nuzzled into her neck. She could feel his dark lashes brush against her skin every time he slowly blinked. Bishop wrapped his arms around her from behind in a powerful embrace, her body tucked neatly against his. He inhaled her soft, pastoral scent. She was all earth, sky and water rolled into the delicate shape of a woman. He pressed his hand between her thighs, finding the centre of her warmth. "Beg, and I'll give you anything you want."

_You just want to control somebody into controlling you. I know you. I understand you._

She exhaled softly and he saw her face relax as she surrendered to him, all the willful edges of her limbs draining into his touch. Her voice was quiet but he would have heard her across a battlefield. Her words caressed his ear, "Bishop, please…please, I need to feel you. Bishop. Please. Take me."

Still holding her to him, Bishop pushed himself firmly inside her, his breath catching in his throat. She was tight and he inched forward, savoring the way her flesh gave before him. He held himself inside her, feeling his thickened member stretching her. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open, her breathing heavy – Bishop felt the pulsating fire in him flare as he relished her complete submission.

He slowly let himself slide out, his body protesting and missing the snug warmth of her womanly walls. He felt her brace her arms against the ground below him, readying herself. This exquisite creature before him was all his for the taking.

_Let go, Bishop. Let go._

His first savage thrust into her nearly knocked her to the ground; Bishop saw her fingers scrabble and dig into the dirt and she spread her legs, bracing them, to hold her up against his onslaught. She was crying out his name with each impact of their two bodies together, entreating him to move faster, harder, the sound of her passionate pleadings accentuated by the smack of hot flesh against hot flesh. Her skin was glistening with sweat, shining in the firelight, giving her an otherwordly crimson glow. Bishop held her hips, guiding her delicious movements, feeling the way her breasts jolted with every insert. His eyes took in the narrowing of her waist, to the slight flaring of her shoulders. But he wanted to see her face; it was pure greed – he wanted to see the pleasure he was giving her.

Bishop lifted her commandingly, and spun her around so that she sat facing him on his lap. Her legs instinctively wrapped around him as he lowered her onto him. There was a narrow trail of blood from the bite on her shoulder, sliding across her breasts. Bishop carefully wiped the blood away, letting his fingers brush against her pink areolas. He bent down, his moist tongue flicking against the pointed nipples, removing the last of the blood. She sighed openly; his touch was a wonderful torment, offering no release from her tension, but just teasing, mocking like the man himself. She began grinding against him, feeling the girth of his organ. She kissed him, vehemently – her hands feeling every inch of his tanned skin. He _was_ an animal – all muscles and violence and wants and insatiable desire. And he was a man – commanding, selfish, passionate. His hands were on her shoulders now, forcing himself deeper with each decisive drive and she was just as greedy as he, spreading herself further to take more of him in. She wanted all of him, to take him into the deepest part of her, to ride him to the end of pleasure. She was leaning back and he could see the fine lines of her body; how her breasts were upturned, her flat stomach, her elegant collarbone. Her pupils were dilated with arousal, her eyes smoldering with a smoky ardor; he could hear her muffled moaning as she pressed her lips against his neck.

She came suddenly, her back arching – the muscles of her body uncontrollable and throbbing as she shook against him. The burning in her depth flared and burst and she felt the rush of pleasure drown her senses. He was pure ecstatic rapture inside her and she held him close. Her fingernails were digging with hot gratifying pain into his back, drawing more blood. He felt her tightening and pulsating against his manhood and that was it - she pushed him over his threshold and he fell with a euphoric collapse. He groaned and quickened his thrusting; the ripple spread violently through his body as he emptied all his passion into her. She was still shuddering against him, drawing out all his lust into her. He felt the weeklong pursuit culminating to this point, to each moment that he was engulfed by her; all his memories of the days and nights, of the forest and this glade, disappeared and then there was only her. Bishop slammed into her with his entire length again and again…there was only her.

* * *

Bishop awoke first. The sun was high in the sky, its beams streaming prettily through the leaves; it was well past midday. He surveyed the scene. The glade was quiet, peaceful. The fire had died out hours ago.

The Shapechanger was sleeping besides him, nestled into his body. There were leaves and twigs in her hair, her hands were covered in dirt, the skin on her legs was lacerated from running through the woods, small bruises were appearing where he had kissed or gripped her too hard in his excitement. She was beautiful.

Bishop looked around again and spotted the elven cords she had used to capture him. They were within reach – he could grab them, subdue her before she awoke, take her back to the Hosttower, finish his mission…He traced her lips tenderly. _Could he?_ She was tame to him now. He picked up one length of rope – the flimsy silky material was deceptive in his strength, as he had found out last night.

He looked back down at her face and saw that she was awake, watching him and the rope he held in his hands. His heart gave a squeeze. _Guilt?_ She spoke calmly, as one who is resigned to their fate, "You gave yourself to me last night and in return, I gave myself to you, Bishop, to do what you would. But if you cared for me, if you have any ounce of mercy at all, you will slit my throat before you bring me to the Luskans." Her breathing was steady but her eyes were sad.

The silence was stretching between them when she made a quiet motion. He looked up and saw that she was offering him her dagger. "Use this, if you have to – so the memory does not carry on your own blade." He took the blade gently from her and stared at the keen edge. Last night, it had been an instrument of her passion – and today – would it be an instrument of her own destruction?

_No, Bishop – that would be you…_

What would await him, if he let her go and returned to the Luskan border, having failed his mission?

Death, if he was lucky. Torture, if they were in a good mood. Both, if they were not.

He turned to her. Her eyes were wet but she was not begging him today. Not today. She lay there besides him, relaxed. He was shocked when he felt the burning start behind his eyes – no, he did not cry. He was no longer some simpering farm brat. He would not cry. Not in front of her.

He raised the blade, "I love you."

And brought the cold steel down deep inside her chest, impaling her much differently than last night. She made only a small quiet gasp, her eyes never leaving his.

He withdrew the dagger and gathered her dying body in his arms, brushing her hair out of her face and picking out the leaves. She was so small. The blood was spilling freely down her breasts, and he was shocked at how red it was, how much there was in such a small frame.

"Oh gods, gods…" He called out to gods who would not listen, who did not care about the ranger and his love. He pressed his hand to the gaping wound, trying to stop the steady outpouring of her life. What had he done? She smiled at him, "It all right Bishop. You are to play an important role in the Realms in the future." She closed her purples eyes for the last time. "I love you too."

She gasped and gave a forceful shudder only once. He felt her body drop in his arms and she was gone. Her face was forgiving, a pale frozen mask of beauty in death. He tenderly wiped the trickle of blood from her lips and kissed her, feeling her warmth leaving already.

Those Luskans would pay with their lives.

* * *

He was back at the tavern, nursing his fifth – or was it sixth? whiskey since he awoke an hour ago. The half-elf had just stopped by, telling him in a condescending tone how _pleased_ they were at his acquisition of the Shapechanger (like she was some sort of object) and how it really was too bad she was not alive but _ah well, what can you do with uncivilized beings like her?_ The messenger had then given him a small envelope with a flourish, saying "We'd like to reward you for your good work and loyalty to the Hosttower."

Bishop had remained silent through the whole conversation, fingering her dagger which he kept at his side now. Wouldn't it be fitting to kill the sniveling half-elf with it? The messenger had once again seemed to understand his hostile intentions and had left abruptly. Bishop was now staring at the new missive directing him to go to Red Fallow's Watch. So…apparently it was time for his initiation into the good old Luskan assassins squad.

Well, now.

This ought to be interesting.


End file.
